


Quiet Feelings, Resonant Crystals

by Sob3rNerd73



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Delicate Flower failure, Fluff, Ghost is a vessel for my feelings here, Ghost is smol, Help, Hurt/Comfort, Myla is the major character death btw, Oneshot, Other, Quirrel is smart and confused, The Knight prefers Ghost, They/Them for Ghost, What am I doing, emotional and physical, feelings galore, he/him for Quirrel, just some grammar and things, less than lovers, liberties taken with canon, maybe OOC Ghost is the opposite of stoic here, more than friends, self-indulgent fic, these disastrous tags might change later just saying, this is definitely going to be lightly edited, this is me trying to both practice writing and defeat writer's block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26623057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sob3rNerd73/pseuds/Sob3rNerd73
Summary: Ghost is shaken after trying to give Myla a Delicate Flower. They chance upon Quirrel in Crystal Peak, and the two listen to the crystals- and each other.ORQuirrel gives Ghost emotional support.
Relationships: The Knight & Quirrel (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 106





	Quiet Feelings, Resonant Crystals

**Author's Note:**

> STumbles out of the vOID
> 
> Here's my vent fic disguised as ok writing because I need to process my feelings about Myla. I read an idea somewhere that Ghost acts as a vessel for the player themselves so that's what I'm doing here. I also need more Quirrel & Ghost comfort in my life. That's literally all this is and I apologize.
> 
> ALSO, to the people reading my Gravity Falls fics- I HAVEN'T ABANDONED THEM, I'm just experiencing some pretty extreme writer's block due to having fallen headfirst into Hollow Knight, I'm still very much into Gravity Falls and have the notes, just lack the willpower, which I hope this fic will help restore. I'm never setting writing deadlines for myself again.

With a sigh, Quirrel all but collapsed onto the bench he had finally found in Crystal Peak. It was truly a gorgeous place, despite the unfortunate fates of the miners providing a rather tragic display of an ingrained will. Aside from the gruesome view, he loved this place. In part because it looked wonderful, yes, and also because he could always almost hear- or feel, rather- a… song? Something similar, but not quite the same, within the crystals themselves, an echoing resonance of life past. 

Were it not full of reanimated miners and pesky crystal hunters, this would definitely be his favorite place in all of Hallownest- or the portion of the great kingdom he had explored, anyway.

Crystals were highly valued back when Hallownest had been more than the mere skeleton it was in the present. The bored rich bought them as decoration, the musically talented used them in compositions, the secret fortune tellers would use them as aids with their premonitions… fortune telling had been strictly banned, as it was seen as a privilege granted to the godly Pale King, and Him alone. The use of it by any other, ordinary bug was regarded as sacrilege, and should they be discovered, a swift and harsh punishment would ensue. The iron fist He had once ruled with had since rusted and crumbled, however, and if the majority of the population weren’t deceased or mentally shattered and seared beyond all reason, Quirrel knew it would be a far more common practice. Bugs were curious and desperate for answers, after all. And they had always feared their ruler far more than they revered Him- he was looked to for light and promise and wakefulness, not knowledge.

The explorer blinked, shocked. While randomly chancing upon lengthy knowledge about a particular subject within his distorted mind had become far more common than he was willing to admit once he had entered the formerly sacred ruins, it was still shocking. When had he learned this?

Had he lived here before the evident disaster that had taken hold of the kingdom reached its apex?

He sighed again and rubbed his face under his mask, then drew his nail out of its sheath and began the lengthy, yet cathartic process of cleaning it. Sure, there were few to witness its lethal beauty, but that didn’t mean he would allow its sheen to fall dull. That small, silent, yet unforgettable little wanderer he kept meeting kept their coiled nail in lovely repair, although it was sometimes a bit dirty- why shouldn’t he follow their example? Quirrel smiled to himself, thinking about the meeting with them he just had, all the way at the top of the mine, the dim world spread below the pair like a subdued, forgotten painting. He had a feeling the wanderer liked the view very much.

As if summoned by Quirrel’s thoughts, the wanderer appeared once more. He was about to happily comment on his surprise to see them so soon again, when he realized how… off they seemed. Stumbling into the crystal- encased room, their cloak was more tattered than he remembered it being, and their shell was severely cracked, with an odd, smoke-like black substance leaking from it, seemingly free of gravity’s influence. Their apparent exhaustion was further proven by them dragging their nail on the ground, rather than proudly carrying it in its sheath across their back. Quirrel winced at this. While the wanderer’s nail did have a bit of liquid Infection on it the last time he had seen them, now it was all but drenched in the burning orange, dripping onto the floor. Mixed within the color was… the green of hemolymph? 

Had they killed an uninfected bug? What had happened to render them in such a state?

Ignoring his own fatigue, the pillbug shot up from the bench and rushed over to where the wanderer had stopped walking and begun teetering dangerously. Their nail clattered to the floor, splattering the viscous mix of liquids. Kneeling down, Quirrel lightly placed his hands on the wanderer’s shoulders and swallowed his instinctive revulsion caused by how… fluid their little body seemed. The word that thrust itself into his mind was ‘unstable’, but that didn’t make sense. How could one’s body be described as unstable, as if it were some construction or experiment?

Quirrel was snapped out of his confused thoughts by the feeling of two small, cold hands gripping his wrists, and to his horror, the wanderer began to silently cry.

\--

Disjointed verses of Myla’s song played in Ghost's head as they avoided looking at their nail, it was covered in her blood and they didn’t want to look at it. They shivered at the memory of desperately trying to clean it as they ran away, away, away- only to be attacked by the corpses that looked so much like her, infected by the same ancient hatred but no no she was different… she sang to them and listened to the crystals, to that song they thought only they could hear. She sang in harmony with the immortal echoes of beauty itself and she was gone. By their own nail. But… they had to. Right? 

Just registering the feeling of large, warm hands on their shifting shoulders, they looked up and saw Quirrel, and he was gone, too-

No, no, there was no orange tint within the glinting black. They checked carefully, remembering passing off the orange tint in Myla’s eyes as an odd reflection before coming back and getting her pick swung at them.

They still desperately clutched the battered remains of the Delicate Flower that was to be a gift for Myla, which they stored within their cloak before reaching up and grabbing Quirrel’s wrists in a yearning grasp rendered weak by their leaking void.

What if this happened to all their friends, all the people they had met? Cornifer, Iselda, Elderbug, the Last Stag, Sheo, Mato, Oro, Hornet…

...Quirrel...

What if there was no such thing as immunity to the Infection, and it was just a matter of time before even the most resilient of minds crumbled?

They didn’t want to succumb to an old anger.

They didn’t want to be all alone.

“Little wanderer, what is it? Come sit down, I believe I have some sparse medical supplies that remain unused, do you cry of pain? Sadness? These are tears, yes?” 

They could cry?

Quirrel began to stand when the Knight reached forward to wrap him in a desperate embrace, longing for a voice so they could express how much he meant to them, in case-

In case he ended up like her.

They hadn’t known what a hug was until it was introduced to them by Mato, as something bugs did to show that they really cared about each other, or to comfort one another. Ghost wanted to know Quirrel was aware of how important he was, to both the world and to them. This was the best they could silently do, and they wished they had a warm body like living bugs, so Quirrel wouldn’t shiver as a reaction to being wrapped in their small arms.

But he wrapped his own spindly arms around Ghost and said something they weren’t expecting-

“Thank you, little friend. I care about you as well.”

The pair then made their way to the intricately designed wrought iron bench, and the Knight repaired their shell while Quirrel cleaned and polished their nail. They hadn’t even noticed him pick it up. 

\--

As he was trying to comfort the wanderer, Quirrel had forgotten how tired he was until he sat down again, and figured he could catch a few hours of sleep on another bench after helping his small friend. Every bench he had found in the past had been in a rather safe and scenic area, and he knew of another one still in Crystal Peak he could make his way to. After this, he was sure the small bug would want to be alone. 

Working on the dirty nail and making a mental note to wash his rag in the next hotspring he found, the pillbug subtly kept a close eye on the wanderer beside him, and found their shell to be rapidly healing, although they hadn’t quite regained their composure. What had caused them such distress?

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Quirrel couldn’t resist the small jolt he gave when his friend frantically shook their head, those odd black tears streaming afresh down their blank face. Experiencing some of the strongest immediate regret of his remembered life, he quickly backtracked.

“It’s fine! It’s fine if you can’t tell me. I understand, it is within your right to refrain from sharing stories of a more personal nature. Your healing ability is truly remarkable, I must say. Not even a scratch where that large crack had been.”

Handing them back their clean, or cleaner, nail, placing the soiled cleaning rag in a pouch, and replacing his own nail in his sheath, Quirrel bid his wandering friend farewell.

Only to be stopped by them gripping his wrist much tighter than Quirrel had thought them capable, causing him to involuntarily hiss in surprised pain. They quickly let go, and scooted away from him on the bench, somehow further distraught than they already were.

Sitting down again, Quirrel tried to reassure his friend.

“You desire that I remain here? I do enjoy your stoic company, I had just thought you wanted to be alone.”

They shook their head, then gestured first to Quirrel, then themself, then the gleaming pink crystals all around them.

“Yes, I suppose it would be nice to enjoy the crystals’ song with someone beside you, no? Do you sense the song, or have I finally rounded the corner?” He joked.

He then realized how subtly different the not-quite-a-melody seemed now that he had someone with him. It wasn’t anything blatant, and still retained its echoing feeling of surreal beauty with an undercurrent of heat and power one could only notice if one knew how to perceive it.

Were the crystals minutely affected by the presence of beings?

\--

Ghost jumped up in excitement, upon hearing Quirrel mention the crystals’ song. He looked at them strangely, and they realized this abrupt change in mood would seem rather odd, especially since their tears hadn’t even dried.

But Ghost couldn’t believe it. Quirrel could feel it, too? They just thought he, like them, admired their beauty, and they had thought sight was the only sense of his the crystals could affect.

Making sure to be gentle, they took Quirrel’s wrist and guided his hand first to their chest, then to his, before letting go and pointing at the crystals with their own hand, hoping to get their point across. The crystals were something that should be felt together, they were sensitive to the feelings and presence of others, and Ghost could almost hear them resonating with the two adventurers on the bench below.

“I was just thinking as much! I thought they felt a little different in your presence. They felt different to you, too, before you came in here and we met, did they not?” Quirrel sighed and laid his head back.

“Oh, the sonority of this lovely place…”

Still standing, Ghost looked up with the other adventurer, the reflective pink ceiling seeming both impossibly far and close enough to touch at the same time.

When they focused really hard, echoes of Myla’s voice sounded within their heart, or the closest approximation to a heart they had. They distantly remembered feeling empty, sometime in the far past, but how could they when the world around them was so beautiful? How could they when bugs like Myla deserved someone to remember her, when bugs like Quirrel were happy to meet fellow adventurers, 

when their kin needed their help and silently screamed so, nearly drowned out by the screech of the orange hate plaguing Hallownest?

Sitting back down, they leaned on Quirrel’s warm shell, and the two drifted off to the echoes of their history, Ghost making a silent vow to figure out how to ease the very suffering that had drawn them to this collapsed kingdom in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry.
> 
> Comment! Critique! Give me advice, complements, if you insult me please at least be decent about it- I want to improve! I'll probably write more fics involving this game in the future, there's so much to work with and it's just such an amazing gem.


End file.
